he is preached

I'm lying on the floor of a long pastel-pink hall. The room is lined with thin red sleeping mats, and the sole decor is a serene portrait of Saint Don Bosco. I'm trying to get comfortable below the maroon ceiling fan swishing above me. It's +44°C. Even the locals are praying for mercy, and talking about how gatherings should not be held during hot season.  

Today was the first day I heard Benny Hinn mentioned in a non-joking fashion. The lady who kindly loaned me her mat told me of a trip she made to see Benny when he came to the capital. "We had never seen a healing service... It was his first time in our country... Fifty of us went." I don't know what to say. So I make some simple remark, and stare as if distracted by the empty field in front of us. (Everyone's in the shade: chatting, eating, waiting for cooler weather.) I'm thinking, "Really?! Benny Hinn?"

A few hours ago I was in an open-air building listening to this: “Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide...you will spread out to the right and to the left...." The teacher and his translator are speaking, "He wants more for you. He wants you to have abundance." I can't disagree. But after an hour and half of that, and heat, I took to a sleeping mat during the next session.

When I start hearing "abundance" messages, I get wary. I can't help it; I grew up in a city where prosperity preachers sent the offering plate for a third round, and then sent their children to my school wearing different Nikes every day. And call me conservative, but I've never taken part in a healing service. After the fourteenth (OK, fourth) emotional, swaying repetition of the same chorus, I get tired. When I realized that the man at an event I attended was speaking in uninterpreted tongues, not the local language, I cringed. And Benny Hinn, well, do I need to even go there?

I like to think the basis for my concern is in the Book. But many of these people of varying persuasions are my brothers and sisters. Does their lack of knowledge of Truth concern me? Yes. I can and do only associate myself with them to a certain degree. Yet when I look around at the shiny, glistening crowd at the +44°C gathering, I see reasons for rejoicing. I remember Luke 9:

“Master,” said John, “we saw someone driving out demons in your name and we tried to stop him, because he is not one of us.”

“Do not stop him,” J'esus said, “for whoever is not against you is for you.”

And Philippians 1 reassures me:

"It is true that some preach Chr!st out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill.... But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Chr!st is preached. And because of this I rejoice."

I've known people who could go into extensive arguments about the frequency of communion services or whether contemporary music should be used in worship. Worse yet, I've seen people disturb the study of the Word by throwing in snide remarks about Book versions. In North America, where chu'rches come in endless flavours, we get particular. "I'd like a scoop of Pistachio Presbyterian" or "Could you mix some Reformed Raisins into my Baptist Butterscotch?" But here, so far, I've only seen one flavour: Charismatic Caramel. When our fellowship is fraught with reminders of our differing theologies, I have to humbly remember that they're more for us than against us.

The reminders of our Oneness are everywhere, if I take the time to look. Here I see no amulets, no lucky eyeliner, no hearts full of fear of the spirits. No longer do they have to wait for an auspicious day to marry or move or start a new job; any day will do. I see a young man in green polyester trousers (a classic poor-man's cut), worshipping next to a man dressed in Western apparel. A middle class boy is squatting and cleaning the floor like a servant usually would. "That couple" seated behind me and their formerly-rascally son have transformed lives because someone loved them enough to face mocking and reach out to them. Each person here stands out from 99.5% of the local population; we have much in common. 

Back in the pink room of the rented Catholic facility, from my red mat under the fan, I notice one other ornament on the wall. A plastic J'esus, bloody and hanging on that cross. In the background, I hear the distant droning of the gathering I skipped. I wonder, have they learned the message of that cross?

Between elaborately choreographed dances and messages about healing and abundance, is the beat up J'esus the one they truly follow? I hold over them my theology and study. But I didn't get beat up or kidnapped when I declared my stance. I didn't get reviled or threatened at school each day. I didn't go completely against the grain of everything my neighbours and family believed.

My J'esus has straight teeth and coiffed hair. He is sweet and serene, his garments silky white, his smile peaceful. He's holding a scroll and waxing eloquent. But the sweating, suffering, bloody, beaten J'esus—they know Him better than I do.

single intention

Dating and engagement, when pursued in a wise fashion, are a time during which people are aiming at a target. They are pursuing marriage and on the way, they think about their core values. Sometimes they're advised to go through lists like this one and talk through anything from "What do you believe about this area of theology?" to "How involved will we be in chur'ch life?" to "How much money should we spend on entertainment?" They have to sift and weigh, determining if they agree on the answers to weighty questions.
 

If said people marry, and children come along, and they face new questions: "What kinds of media will we allow our children to consume?" and "How can we best reflect the Father through parenting?" One of the benefits (and challenges) of a healthy marriage, as I see it, is the ongoing conversation about values and how those carry over into practical living. That and in-house human accountability.

Singles can find themselves at a disadvantage in this regard.

We don't have to find commonality with anyone on many issues...which sometimes means don't take the time to consider such matters of stewardship as carefully as we might otherwise. We don't have joint bank accounts. We're less accountable to other humans for how we spend our spare time, because we have our own bedrooms and our own space. We are particularly vulnerable to our culture's ideas of self-centered, immature living that seem to accompany "the single years". But single people are no less accountable before the Father for their stewardship of resources, time, or attitudes than married people are.

As a single, I find it easy to skip over that intentionality about how I am going to do life, because ultimately, I make the final call in most decisions. Even when I consult wise, older believers first, most choices are my own in the end.

When I go shopping, and I decide to buy something I don't need, 50% of me is happy that I don't have a husband to report to, and 50% wishes I did, for accountability. I may toss around ideas about personal finances with a friend, but at the end of the day, I make the final financial calls for my life, and she makes hers. And it's easy to live a life full of good intentions but have little to show for them.   

How do singles battle lazy, selfish, aimless living?

First of all, we need something to aim for. We need to have a big-picture vision of what the Father has created and redeemed us to be. As humans. As believers. As people of our gender. As singles. This picture needs to be forefront in our minds. What is His high calling?

Secondly, we need to have a more individual vision of what the Father has created and redeemed us for, as individuals (who are also members of the Body). Where does my background, skill set, spiritual gifting, and local Body point me?

Thirdly, it can be helpful to create a life standard, or a life target, to see if our activities, thoughts and actions are directed at the mark. Call it time management, organization or setting life goals, but it could be a helpful way to gauge progress or keep on track.

Such lists could lead to legalism...so bear in mind this wise phrase, "Write the vision in stone, and the strategy in pencil." Know what the non-negotiable calling is, but be flexible about what it might look like in your life.... though I think that between you and the Father (and perhaps a human accountability partner), it can be good to assign specifics so that you can better know if you're reaching your goals. As good managers say, "Without standards, there can be no improvement."

As the Father brings different areas to light, or as I live in different cultures and pass through different seasons, the list will change. But I could see it including goals for:

• intentional showing of hospitality (ie: "I will invite a family or individual over at least once a month.")
• intentional use of spiritual gifts for the edifying of the body (ie: "I will use my spiritual gift of ________ by setting aside time each week to __________.")
• intentional pursuit of spiritual growth (ie: "I will grow in my understanding of ___________ area of theology this year." or "I will read _________ this year.")
• intentional financial stewardship (ie: "I will give ____%." or "I will grow my giving by _____% this year.") 
• intentional time management ("I will limit my TV, Facebook or movie consumption to _______ per week.") 

...and more! The list is not an end it itself, it's just a guide to remind ourselves of the target (Phil. 3:14). 

With singleness comes the unique challenge that I can only call "expected flexibility." Singles can be the good eggs, bunking anywhere and with anyone. They should be up for random, late-night activities, because they don't have other commitments. Singles can befriend most anyone who happens to be single, and of course, always have lots of free time. These sorts of expectations should be met with a servant's heart; we can serve others in ways that our married friends cannot. But sometimes, if not out of selfish motives, it is OK too for us to explain that though we are not spouses or parents, have a life rhythm. Intentions. Standards. Sometimes we say "no" to something good, so that we can do something better...so that we can live a life that clearly reflects what we most value.
 

What's the goal again? "We make it our goal to please him...for we must all appear before the judgment seat of Chr!st..." Single or married? Miss, Ms or Mrs? On that day, it won't matter anymore. Singleness will be a distant memory. Human marriage will dissolve when ultimate Groom is joined to his beloved Bride. So sift and weigh your practices and pursuits. Are you making it your goal to please Him?

ideal walking conditions

I was born into a family of walkers. We walk out of necessity; we walk for pleasure. We walk in the winter; we walk in the summer. In the city or in the countryside. Uphill. Downhill. You get the idea.

When my grandpa was ailing in a nursing home, my grandma would trek on foot across town—perhaps a two-hour walk round trip—to visit him every day. She'd pull weeds out of sidewalk cracks along the way and identify every tree she walked by. Some of my earliest memories of my dad involve him walking me to school, encouraging me to walk with my feet straight, "not pigeon-toed". He taught me to stay a foot away from the curb, to look both ways before crossing the street, and that car ownership is a privilege, not a right or (in most cases) a necessity. Growing up, we did a lot of walking.

Now I realize that walking is the embodiment of values we hold dear, such as simplicity, thrift, health-consciousness, and enjoyment of creation. I learned that going places on foot offers an independance that relying on other modes of transportation does not. As I created my own adult life, living walkable distances from work and chu'rch was a priority for me. It relaxes me, and it satisfies my inner thrift-er. Walking has been healthy for my relationships and my thought life. On city sidewalks and wooded trails, I have shared many a deep conversation with a close friend, or with my Father. So, blame it on nature or nurture, but walking is one of my favourite simple pleasures.

Walking in my new city, though, is not for the faint of heart. It is less simple, and less pleasurable. Because of heat, dust, noise, safety precautions and my tendency to be tardy, I rarely walk to work. Though it is only a fifteen minute walk from door to door, I hire a cheap auto to take me the distance. If I want to go for a stroll, I do so in the evenings inside my gated complex.

But a few nights ago, I chose to walk to my friends' complex around dusk. I wrapped my scarf tightly over my hair, eyes alert for oncoming vehicles. I walked past the corner where the autos-for-hire wait...and perhaps to their surprise, did not hail any of them. On my walk, I saw three giggling girls sitting in the dust, sharing a snack. I looked into open shanty huts lining a vacant lot. I surveyed the rows and rows of simple white apartments rising from a paved slab where children play games and cows roam free. I stepped around assorted rubbish, lying loose next to the road. I walked through the real lives of fellow humans who live only meters from my gate. That evening, I remembered again why walking is good for me. When I walk, I see. When I see, I think.

I need to walk sometimes, so that I learn about life outside the walls of my complex, the walls of my auto, and the walls of my air-conditioned office. Walking affords me extra moments to take in the texture of the simple bed frames used by the shanty-dwellers. To see the golden earrings on the giggling child. To smell deep-frying oil or the sweetness of chai. To think about life on a road that divides the maids from the maid owners, and the cow milkers from the milk buyers. Rebecca Solnit writes, “Walking shares with making and working that crucial element of engagement of the body and the mind with the world...." Walking forces me to ponder life.

Walking in this neighbourhood reminds me of the tension I often feel between (1) feeling the pain of the needy, and (2) enjoying what the Father has given to me. How do I strike the balance between giving to the poor without feeling guilty in enjoying a fuller life than they? Sincere followers have disagreed on this topic, some living as ascetics and others enjoying fine dining every weeknight. Each individual is responsible to seek the the Father's perspective and respond to the conviction given through His Word and Spirit. But this I know: my heart should break with compassion for the poor, because His does. My heart should break for people who walk in darkness. Walking can be used of the Father to awaken a heart anesthetized by pleasure, greed, and the pride of life.


One night in April, I walked from the office to the auto drivers' corner—usually a short, semi-pleasant jaunt in the early evening. A strong wind was blowing, whipping up the sand and dust that rests on everything, throwing grit into my eyes. I fumbled for my sunglasses but was unable to find them. I tugged at the shawl on my head, urging it to protect me. Nothing really helped, I just had to bear the swirling sand until I reached my auto. Ideal walking conditions? Maybe for a camel. But even a stroll through a sandstorm is a trigger for thankfulness. This is why: if the walk were comfortable, the weather temperate, and the air clean, I might forget my purpose. But when the walk is difficult, hot and dusty, I have no choice but to remember why I am here. Why He came here. When I walk, I remember. When I walk, I am thankful.

interpreting across a cultural gap

Last year a friend asked me what I think our Book is saying when it tells us to refuse food that we know has been offered to idols. 

I told her that I think it means that we should refuse food that we know has been offered to idols. 

Common sense, right?

But if I had not yet been to Asia when she asked me that question, I don't know what my reply would have been. Asia taught me that believers still face that exact situation. The instruction is a practical one here, as are many of the passages that refer to idols, special days, special foods or not eating meat in front of a vegetarian friend, and much more. It has never been more obvious to me that our Holy Book is an Eastern book. It bears many more physical and cultural parallels to Asia than to the Americas...because it is an Asian book. 

But in the West, the turbans, camels, walled cities, servants, nose rings and arranged marriages of the East seem like distant fables, and we have a tendency to "spiritualize" any passage that we can't directly relate to. Understanding the culture into which our Holy Book was written is one of the most difficult parts of understanding what it has to say...and a part most of us sorely neglect. Too often we think that only the leaders of our gatherings, or radio preachers, are responsible to do cultural or background research. As for our own reading, too frequently we jump in and out of the text quickly, just looking for a quick application, without any time for background research. While sometimes we emerge unscathed, it doesn't mean that our method is wise. A careful and prayerful approach to the Word keeps us balanced and true...while haphazard hermeneutics could have us joining a fanatical cult in Texas. It is a worthwhile cause to take some time to understand how to understand the Word.

When I moved to Asia, one of the books I wished I could have brought was this book on interpretation. What follows is quoted from a chapter called "Bridging the Cultural Gap," pages 92-94. Zuck has helpful words about determining the relevance of certain passages to us:

"The following principles may be useful in determining which cultural practices and situations, commands, and precepts in the Bible are transferable to our culture and which ones are nontransferable. 

1. Some situations, commands, and principles are repeatable, continuous, or not revoked, and pertain to moral or theological subjects, and/or are repeated elsewhere in Scripture, and therefore are permanent and transferable to us. We need to ask if the Scriptures treat the situation, command, or principle as normative. Sometimes a reason is given for a command. Capital punishment is considered a permanent command because, after being given in Genesis 9:6, it is nowhere revoked, and the reason given in that verse is that man is made in God’s image. The command in Proverbs 3:5-6 to trust the Lord is certainly repeated, though stated in various ways throughout Scripture....

2. Some situations, commands, or principles pertain to an individual, non-repeatable circumstances, and/or non-moral or non-theological subjects, and/or have been revoked, and are therefore are not transferable to today. Paul’s instructions to Timothy in 2 Timothy 4:11-13 to bring his cloak and scrolls is obviously limited to Paul’s situation. Nowhere are Christian fathers commanded to sacrifice their sons as Abraham was told to do (Gen. 22:1-19); that command was only for that occasion in the patriarch’s life....

3. Some situations or commands pertain to cultural settings that are only partially similar to ours and in which only the principles are transferable. Five times the New Testament refers to greeting others with a holy kiss (Rom. 16:16; 1 Cor. 16:20; 2 Cor. 13: 12; 1 Thes. 5:26; 1 Peter 5: 14). Since that was the normal form of greeting in that day, and since that is not the normal form of greeting in our Western culture, it follows that this practice need not be carried over to today. Instead the principle behind it should be followed, namely, to express friendliness and love to others. In Latin America the same principle is expressed by a hug rather than a kiss, and in America a handshake is sometimes accompanied by a hug or a pat on the back....

 4. Some situations or commands pertain to cultural settings with no similarities but in which the principles are transferable. A sinful woman expressed her love to Jesus by pouring perfume from an alabaster jar on Jesus’ head (Matt. 26:7-8). There is obviously no way in which we can do this to Jesus now, but the principle holds that we can express our love to Him sacrificially..."

Zuck's well-organized book gives more examples of each of the above scenarios, as well as lots of other helpful guidelines for people who want to take their Book reading deeper. Every believer could be helped by skimming the book every few years to keep his reading and study on target. (Someone has scanned the whole book and put it online...copyright page and all! While they shouldn't have done that, it sure came in handy tonight for this girl whose beloved book is languishing in storage in Canada).

David Cooper is known for saying, "When the plain sense make common sense, seek no other sense." If we abide by this guideline in interpretation, 80% of our interpretation pitfalls will already be avoided. The example I gave of not eating food that has been offered to idols would probably fall into category 3 or 4 for most Westerners. But for Easterners it falls into category 1. We could try to draw elaborate modern-day Western parallels for idols, food, and offerings....but that would be going much farther than the text goes. Instead, we could draw a simple principle from it (à la 3 and 4) but concentrate on the obvious meaning based on the cultural context into which the Book was originally written.  

And that is common sense.

the nature of sacrifice

An acquaintance relayed to me a story of a trip he made with his family to an impoverished country in another hemisphere. His son, upon seeing the needs of the people around him, gave away nearly everything he had taken with him on the trip. As the story concluded, of course, I commented on the son's commendably generous spirit. “Yes,” his dad chuckled, “but when we came back to Canada, I had to buy replacements of everything for him.”

In contrast, a friend told me about a little girl who asked her parents if she could give her bicycle away to an immigrant girl at school. Her parents confirmed, “Are you sure that that is what you want to do? We will not be buying you another bike right away, you will have to go without.” That was exactly what she wanted to do; she gave away her bike.

Both stories sound altruistic. Both children gave gifts that were happily received. But one gave out of abundance, the other gave a true sacrifice. It makes me think of the story of the widow's offering: she "put in everything—all she had to live on"...and the God of all the earth took notice. Just because we are giving doesn't mean that we are sacrificing.

In our circles we bat about the word “sacrifice” without much thought. The term is familiar; to us a sacrifice is the giving up of something of value. But today's spiritual jargon forgets the graphic nature of "sacrifice" in the Old Testament. In Old Testament sacrifices, something often died. Multiple animals died. There was pain. There was blood. There was a mess to clean up. Then in the New Testament we see the ultimate Sacrifice, that of the Son—heart-wrenching pain, blood, death and separation. A life given up because "unless a seed fall into the ground and die, it remains alone." These pictures should frame our understanding of what sacrifice looks like.

A good question to ask ourselves on a regular basis is, “Am I dying anywhere?” Or also, "Am I giving to the Father anything that interferes with my comfort or ease?" "Do my offerings draw blood?" These sacrifices come in many shapes and sizes—but most often they come not without a scuffle, sweat, breaking and blood. May these deaths remind us why we are alive.

it's about time

I'm eating an unhealthy bachelorette supper tonight: Nutella on roti (bread) and flat Sprite. It's not exactly the balanced meal of my mother's dreams, nor it is it a meal that would win a man's heart. But my mom is far away and I'm OK with my singleness tonight. It's a quiet around the apartment after a long day at work. The air conditioner coughs as it starts to cool my bedroom. The weekend is here—hallelujah!

I got away with eating such an unusual supper because my roommates were out. When they returned, they questioned, "Have you eaten? What did you eat? Chocolate spread on bread?" Guilty as charged. I'm living with two local girls who don't understand my choice of chocolate spread as a meal replacement. But they do enjoy eating meals together, whatever the menu.

Interestingly, there was no discussion with my new roommates about whether we would sit down to eat meals together or not. We were virtual strangers before we began sharing an apartment, but it is assumed that if we are home around the same time, we will share a meal. I think I'm OK with that. We're settling into a little routine of suppers together and small talk around the table.

Whether it's having scheduled meals or making neighbours welcome to drop by, I'm coming to the realization that building relationships here will require a significant time commitment. It's hard to schedule events or people in a land where typically things run late and long, and where people are more relationally-oriented than time-oriented. The local culture is not going to change in that regard.

So, I'm realizing that if I am going to live and love in my new environment, I'm going to have to change. I can't keep too many things on my urgent to-do list. Pursuing freelance work has to take a back seat to having time for people. I must be wise as to what degree I communicate with friends back home, ie: how often, how long. I must learn to seize the day here and to not be too perturbed if "the day" gets postponed, elongated or changed.

Building bridges into my roommates' lives is not only different because we are from different cultures, but because we hold vastly different worldviews. In North America, I always sought roommates of the same faith. Here, I didn't really even consider looking for such people. They're few and far between, but also I thought that living with girls from such differing worldviews and backgrounds could be an effective thing on multiple levels. Challenging? Yes. A situation to be entered into pray'erfully? For sure. But a great opportunity to be real, and build relationship.

I'm telling you these facts as they relate to me and Asia, but no matter our physical location or culture, we need to intentionally cultivate meaningful relationships with people of other faiths. As North American believers, we tend toward one of two extremes:

1. We have almost no deep relationships with people of other faiths (ie: we spend all our time with fellow believers), or 
2. We have too many deep relationships with people of other faiths (ie: to the point that our faith is compromised or weakened).

Our Western Chr!stian signboard-carrying, web-linking culture needs to be challenged in the area of establishing relationships....myself included. A tract, a Facebook post, a billboard, or a five-minute conversation on a street corner might challenge a heart, but it can't be more meaningful than a true, godly friendship. We suppose that those who are seeking will come and find us (after all, don't our chur'ches have websites?), but more often they're the missing sheep that need to be sought after. Seeking out sheep takes a commitment of your person to the effort.

A common misconception is that the most spiritual, committed people are those who are on every chur'ch committee or at every chur'ch meeting. We need to inquire deeper into fellow believers' hearts and motives, because those with the perfect Sunday school attendance records might not be the most effective disciple-makers. And we were called to make disciples more clearly than we were called to attend Sunday school. Often we don't have time for meaningful relationships with anyone outside the Family...and then we wonder why our Communities aren't growing.

Moving to the other side of the world allowed me to reevaluate my schedule and commitments, and reminded me of this: if we're too busy to make disciples, then we're too busy.  That's our calling, after all.

This month I read a powerful article about a lady whose life was profoundly changed through the love of a couple who cared enough to challenge her worldview. The challenge began in the form of a gentle, challenging reply to an article she wrote, but developed into a long-term relationship between the two parties. The title and subheading are attention-grabbing: "My Train Wreak Conversion: As a leftist lesbian professor, I despised Chr!stians. Then I somehow became one." Definitely make time to read her transformation account.

When you read it, you read her story in a condensed form. It would be easy to forget the many dinners, hundreds of conversations and thousands of prayers that were groundwork laid before this articulate, intelligent lady "got up from the bed of [her] lesbian lover." Her friends "brought the chur'ch to [her]" through hospitality and relationship until she was so convicted that she took herself to the chur'ch. Her loving Community helped her along the narrow path she chose; it was not without enormous pain and struggle.

Yes, sometimes people come into the light quickly, seemingly easily. But they are the minority. The rest need the chur'ch to come to them, in the form of loving relationships.

It's Saturday evening now, and my roommates and I had a few others over for pizza. I spent hours planning the menu, shopping for ingredients, making homemade dough and homemade tomato sauce, and double-washing the vegetables in our warm kitchen. Tiring? Yes. Valuable? I hope so.

We're doing life together. Life takes time. So as I revisit my schedule to make time for roommate suppers (with or without Nutella), neighbour visits, and chats with coworkers, I'll keep this in mind: if I'm too busy to make disciples, then I'm too busy. 

in answer to your question

Little known fact: in my first year of post-secondary, my classmates voted me the "person who asks the most questions." Yes, that's me. I ask questions because I want to understand thoroughly. I like neatly presented information: outlines, parallel sentences, numbered lists, and books with logical structures. The usual state of affairs on my desk might not lead you to this conclusion, but a personality profile test accurately stated that I "desire a high level of structure and order." I also like clear answers to my questions, so I ask and ask until things become clear.

Enter Asia, where I've been living for almost four months now. Neither of my current physical environments (Asia, or my employer, a family-run start-up) have a high level of structure and order. Clear communication is often strained by cultural differences, language barriers, generational gaps, and the like.

This has taken its toll on me. Lately I have felt exhausted and overwhelmed, and I realized that being in a constantly new and changing environment (coupled with wearing this fallible flesh) has resulted in culture stress. In addition to that, Asia has blown out the walls of my mental house and has me asking questions that I've never asked before. So. many. questions. If I asked a lot of questions in college, I'm asking even more now.

If you've been following my journey in Asia, you've seen me grapple questions such as:

• How do I show grace to people whose language I cannot yet speak?  
• How do I stand up for justice in a society with many unjust structures?  
• In a country where people are everywhere, how can I see and love people as individuals?  

But there are more questions, many more. 

There are simple daily questions. Where do I get a curtain rod and is that a good price for sheets? Why is that person ringing my doorbell? Is it safe for me to be walking down this street by myself? Is that driver overcharging me? And my personal favourite, is everyone in this food court staring at me, or is there, perchance, one person who isn't? As much as I enjoy many of the cultural experiences, the very fact of having to learn so many things all over again (starting with the alphabet!) is humbling, and draining.

My soul is also asking questions with larger implications. For example, how did J'sus relate to rich people, and what can I glean from His methods? How do I know when I am paying someone a fair wage, and how is fair defined? How do I interact with the servant who works in my house? What is a truly Biblical, unbiased view of wealth, the value of labour and employer-employee relationships? To what degree can I participate in festivals and activities, as everything seems to have an underlying religious meaning? How do I manage my time well, while still being flexible with the twists and turns that cross-cultural living and relationships always throw my way? It seems like I am constantly coming across situations for which I don't have a workable frame of reference. 

In recent years I have become accustomed to asking Google most anything, but these are questions Google can't answer for me. I want to frame the questions properly, to find answers in His revelation, to think B!blically. But until I have time to do so, my questions rattle around in my head and sometimes, steal my sleep. Late one night, I asked myself: did I make a mistake in coming here?

Design by Christopher Goodwin (http://www.chris-to-pher.com/)

I've been spending quality time in police stations lately, to acquire visa documents. My coworker and I ride through heat and dust, enter the station, get told to return, and then return again, then return again…. The corners of the building reek of urine and the men stare me down, and (only for documentation purposes) ask if I'm married and where I live. Sweat dribbles down my back and my work to-do list piles up while we do what feels like unnecessary running around. Another question rises in my mind: why am I here again?

In the generous manner that I see often here, a friend gave up her evening to serve as my translator at the police station. We ducked past swarms of bored policemen and stood in the station's open-air hallway, chatting as we waited for our audience with the police official.

I know many so-called spiritual people who would have spent the moments in the hall shooting the breeze. Maybe I would have as well, had my friend not set a serious tone to the conversation. "I have questions," she told me, "about what life is about. Why things are, why things happen." I clarified, "You mean, you wonder about the purpose of life?" She responded in the affirmative and continued, "Like my friend injured by a serious car accident…why her? What for? Why is life unfair to good people? She was always the happiest, kindest person...." Her voice trailed. Uncertainty hung in the air. Darkness tucked itself around the corners of the station as she expressed her concerns. She's seeking answers; it's obvious.

I have so much to explore, to learn, to ponder, and to discuss. I'm asking, asking, asking...but my questions are less urgent than hers. My body, mind and emotions may be wrung by change, but ultimately I am resting in the One whose "understanding has no limit". My friend is not. She's asking, seeking, knocking.

A few years ago I had to determine my stance on the question "what of the unreached?" or "what happens to people who have no exposure to the Light?" It was a query that needed to be settled from the Word, in my heart and mind. After much study, I had to conclude that in order to be fair in judging unbelief, the Father must provide enough opportunity for each seeking heart to believe, whether it looks that way to us or not. By that I mean that there is no one who is truly unreached by any Light (cf. Psalm 19 and Romans 1). I also concluded that those who respond to the little Light they have are given more: "you will seek Me and find Me when you seek me with all your heart."

The questions that have occasionally taunted me come to mind: Did I make a mistake in coming here? Why am I here again? I must revert to truth to answer those questions; according to my theology, the Father finds a way to throw Light on the path of the seeker. I came here to push pixels, to expand my friends' business, and to learn about another culture. But it is also probable that I am here in answer to a question someone asked, to a petition someone made to One who promises that "everyone who asks receives...." And for now, that's all I need to know. No more questions asked.

room for one more

A hot breeze is blowing and I smell human sweat. I'm not sure if it's mine or that of the realtor standing in front of me. Maybe both. It's a warm day and the wind blows through the open patio doors of my new apartment, into the living room with its torn couches (the owner promises to replace them) and the broken TV (a repairman is coming any minute now). But the airflow, warm as it is, reminds me of one reason I like this apartment: the wind blows through freely. The living room faces an open lot, and the porch already has hooks for a swing.

"Pencil hai?" Is that a pencil? asks the realtor. "Are you sure that's not a pencil?" The ink from my pen, which my roommate is using to sign the documents, doesn't look dark enough to convince him it's a pen. Forgetting that my humour doesn't always translate into this culture, I tease him a little, "It's an exotic pen, a Canadian pen." His reply: "Canada is the only country that won't accept medications made in other countries. Our country can't send medications to your country. Australia, yes. UK, yes. Canada, no." If you aren't sure what the connection is between Canadian pens and Canadian pharmaceutical import policies, I'm with you.

Three additional men stroll into the living room. Two of them are realtors I've seen before: the slight mustachioed man dressed in a bit more conservative style, and the agreeable one with a wild mop of hair. The latter has grown a beard since the last time I saw him. The third I've never seen before. He is gyrating the metal part of his motorbike key inside his ear, a Q-Tip of sorts. I wonder why these three have appeared so suddenly, but then I realize: they want to get their share of the realty fees. Besides, in this place, there are always spare people around; anyone who's anyone has an assistant. You just don't do things on your own. So there are now seven people at the meeting where I expected three. Oh wait, there are eight now....the TV repairman just showed up.

The documents on the glass table are in two different languages, and the conversation around me is in three. Thankfully, most of the documents are in English, and I understand roughly 30% of what is going on in the room. The form written in the state language (the language my roommate and I don't speak) scares me a little. Are they going to ask us to sign something we can't read? The first realtor is jovial and keeps saying "Foreigner...foreigner...." (Those ellipses stand for the parts of his sentences about me that I can't understand.) I find out the local document is police paperwork, they'll fill it out for us, no signing necessary.

The documents are finally signed, cheques written, cash handed over. Can we have the keys to our apartment? "Oh, keys? We only have one key. We'll have to make a copy for you." Oh, OK. The realtor foursome said they'd make an extra key for themselves this week, too. We definitely will be changing the locks after we take possession of the apartment, lest one of these four men visits us unannounced.

It's beyond my understanding how, after weeks of back-and-forth, haggling, and repairs left undone, all parties still have smiles for each other. They've exchanged cross words on other days, but today, we've reached our peace. Not because all the repairs are done, but because if we wait for all the repairs to be done, we may never move in. No one seems particularly stressed about the delay or about the work left undone. Clearly, this Westerner was the only one losing sleep over it.

The whole rental process has accentuated the differences between our cultures. When they said they'd get the repairs done, I thought they would. When they said the apartment was ready, I dared to hope it was. When I got frustrated, they didn't. Behind four walls, working and living with other foreigners, it's easy to create your own world. Slowly now, I'm moving into their world. Sweat, hot breeze, exotic pens. People, people and more people.

(I wonder, briefly, how His entrance was into our world. What culture shock He must have felt. The incarnation carries more weight, now.)

This week I plan to clean the spacious apartment He's provided, perhaps with an assistant or two. If it's up to me, I'll dispose of the deities from the pantry, and the welcome god perched over the door. This week marks a new phase for me, I'll move in with someone of a culture vastly different than mine. Her culture won't be outside the walls, it will be inside the walls. Here's hoping she can teach me something about patience and smiling at the causers of your frustration. Perhaps she can help me learn the national language and embrace free-flowing, unscheduled community. Because here, the door opens frequently, the neighbours want to chat, and visitors drop by at 10:00pm. The friend of your friend wants to meet you. You don't just do things on your own. And no matter how full the living room is, there's always room for one more. 

knee jerk worship

I woke up ill yesterday. All morning, I was feeling awful, heavy. Trying to work, only to head back to bed again; wondering what was wrong.  I was frustrated to be sick yet again; it's become all too common since I moved to this continent.

Suddenly, in the early afternoon, my body took care of the problem. It expelled the alien substance that was making me ill. I haven't vomited since grade three. But Asia has changed things. Thank you, Asia.

Actually, I am thankful.

Because even in those moments, as I was getting cleaned out, I had a few split seconds of awe. Awe that He designed our bodies so masterfully. Awe at the mechanisms the Creator put in place. Awe that He trained my body to do exactly what I needed: get rid of whatever was making me sick. What sovereignty, wisdom and kindness came up with such a system?

My coworkers cleaned up my mess, brought me tea and toast in bed, and rounded up fresh coconut water. (There's nothing like throwing up to make you feel legit in taking the rest of the day off.) Lounging on my bed, I thought about those split seconds of awe in the middle of distress, and realized: this is what we train for. This is why we immerse ourselves in Him. This is why He works to transform our minds. The Father is drawing us to the place where our knee jerk reaction to any circumstance (puking or paralysis, Typhoid or thick traffic) is that of worship. In my illness, I had a small taste of this.

Worship isn't a normal human response during a vomiting session. My normal human response was more along the lines of frustration: sick, again? But He is work in us, enabling us to do all for His glory. Enabling us to see the circumstances of life as pathways to worship.

He didn't promise life would guide us down broad, even paths, lined with well-tended geraniums. Sometimes the road we tread is one of sharp rocks. Steep inclines. Narrow passes.

Cancer or prolonged health problems.
Stillbirth or miscarriages.
Handicaps and children with extraordinary struggles.
Barrenness or singleness. 
Marital struggles and divorce.
Loneliness. Accidents. Death.

We hope that when those circumstances come along, we'll triumphantly rise over them. But the best soldiers aren't recruited one day and put on the front lines the next. A seed doesn't start bearing fruit the day it is planted. It is rare that investments earn whopping amounts of interest overnight. Job didn't just determine to be a banner of hope to people in suffering situations. He first had a consistent reputation for being "blameless and upright, and one who feared G0d and shunned evil." He would "rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings....thus Job did regularly." Worship was a regular thing for him, not a Sunday thing, not a when-others-are-looking thing. It was constant and it was sincere. Because of this, when multiple tragedies came, he stayed the course: he kept worshiping.

If you're in a narrow pass right now, set up a place of worship there. Watch how Job suffered without sinning.

But if your season is a joyous one, follow Job's example during his joyous years. Fear G0d, shun evil. Cultivate a lifestyle of worship. Then, when struggles reach inside of you and expose you for who you really are, they'll find a worshiper of the deepest, truest kind. The kind birthed by G0d Himself. To Him be the glory.

why you don't need to travel

At breakfast, an acquaintance asked me how many countries I've visited, and I had to stop to count. It was a new situation, that of not knowing how many countries I've visited. At the end of 2011, I had only been to 3 countries, but by the end of 2012, the count was at 11. Sounds like 2012 was a fascinating year, right? The stuff of many daydreams.

There were crunchy macaroons, famous historical sites, entertaining moments and encouraging conversations. There was light from The Good Book. My life was enriched and deepened by the knowledge I acquired and the people I met. But to be realistic, travelling also meant diarrhea for over a week, rain and cold, the re-wearing unwashed socks...and the regular weight of being a sinner living in a dark world. In many ways, travelling was not so different than everyday life. 

I hope that last sentence didn't just ruin your life.

It's just that my perspective on travel has been gradually shifting.

North American culture teaches that travel is all that. It's the cool thing, to take a gap year to save turtles on a beach in Costa Rica and to sail around Caribbean. I had a coworker who told me that she “lives to travel.” (I couldn't help but pity her, because that means she only “lives” one or two weeks out of the year.) I don't need to tell you that travel can be an idol for many.

As a TCK, I have perceived travel as all that in a different sense. I often have thought that people who've never travelled need to get out more in order to gain the Father's heart (and to be more interesting dinner companions). Need to get on a plane and discover a place where the apples aren't polished and the tap water isn't potable. I could relate to Mark Twain, who stated that, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."

We all have this idea that travel changes things. 

But the truth is, the Father changes things. Not travel. Travel can have positive effects, but the moving of your body to another corner of the earth doesn't necessarily mean the moving and transforming of your heart to better reflect Him.

This was aptly illustrated by this post from an American living in Asia. For two years, she has been a first-hand witness to her neighbours' suffering and deception. Yet she still finds herself listening to a friend talk about how her husband is beating her, and then being upset because her internet is slow. (What is slow internet after spousal abuse?) She gets so frustrated with disruption of her neighbours chanting to idols in the night, that her heart fails to grieve for the blindness around her. She reminded me that a change of heart is the work of G0d. Not the work of travel. If it were the work of travel, she wouldn't be struggling with wrong attitudes anymore.

It is good that we would hold lightly to our physical location and tightly to the One who cradles the earth in His hands.

This photo is was taken by my travelling buddy, Christie.

Our tour of Paris was led by a Bulgarian in a beret. She guided us between gold-covered monuments while we munched on baguettes and soft goat cheese. I had no expectation of what the Louvre would look like, but when I saw it, I was impressed. It surprised me when my travelling buddy was notably unimpressed. I questioned her reaction. She surveyed the structure rising from the cobbled courtyard and said, “It's just that the things of man cannot compare to the things of G0d.”

I think her reference was to how grey stone buildings and glass pyramids couldn't begin to compare to the endless spread of the Yukon territory. How the sparkling Eiffel Tower could never rival the a sky showcasing the Northern Lights. How all the most elegant bridges in Paris could not offer competition to the formations of the Giant's Causeway. She was right.

"The works of man cannot compare to the works of G0d." That sentence spoke truth on various levels. Travel will never finally change the world. Travel can't answer the world's problems. Travel won't heal the ache of the soul. If you're discontent, bored, jealous or selfish, travel is not the solution. What I'm saying is, you don't need to travel. Carrying a valid passport doesn't hurt. Getting it stamped multiple times can be fun, challenging, and perspective-broadening. If you have the opportunity to travel, I recommend it; you can tell me your stories at dinner.  

But what you need, my friend, is J'esus. Only He can answer problems, heal aches, and transform the human heart. Only He can cure "prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness" once and for all. Let's keep that straight.

introducing: wheat

I am not a rapid reader. Sometimes we share from what we're reading, and my friend asked me if I'm still in Isaiah, because he noticed I was there for a long time. I've actually made it to Jeremiah. I've been spending quite a while with this guy, too. Last week, Jeremiah challenged me to the core again. He's a good place to be.

The Creator issues a task in Jeremiah 23:28, "He who has My word, let him speak it faithfully." It is followed up by this phrase, "what is the chaff to the wheat?" A small pair of phrases that ring with powerful implications.

We get confused. We often think our task is to prove chaff's worthlessness. We hold it up in our palms. We blow on it. We talk about what colour it is. We write reports on the texture. We imagine that one day, after enough arguments and witty points about chaff, our friends will give in and say: "Yes, you've convinced me, this chaff isn't much good."

But the best way to show someone that chaff is worthless is to introduce them to wheat. Then the topic of the value of chaff will become a non-issue. Think about it: does wheat get worried that chaff will someday take some of its market share? Do farmers sit around and discuss the merits of planting chaff rather than wheat? The answer is obvious. Nothing makes the worthlessness of chaff more obvious than the presence of the real deal, the wheat.

It is written, "He who has My word, let him speak it faithfully." Sometimes we get distracted from the simplicity and purity of the task. Yes, there may be a time to discuss chaff. To issue a reminder to people who've mistaken chaff for wheat. But that's not our main task. Understand? The key task is to speak the word faithfully.

Jeremiah 23:29 describes that word as having power: “Is not My word like a fire?” says the L0rd, “And like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces? Spurgeon said, "The Word of G0d is like a lion. You don’t have to defend a lion. All you have to do is let the lion loose, and the lion will defend itself.” When we worry about the wheat not differentiating itself from the chaff, we're saying that the word is not sufficient. Not fire. Not a hammer.

This is a reminder for everyday. Analyze and familiarize yourself with the wheat, not the chaff. Hold it up, blow on it, talk about it, write reports on it. Most importantly, spread the wheat out faithfully. Let the wind of time blow. The chaff will be gone, the wheat will remain. It's that powerful. It's that simple.

bare feet and justice

February, for me, has been the month of the apartment hunt. I have high standards: I want a place where the sink isn't rusty, the paint isn't drooping or chipping, and the walls aren't stained with betel-nut-tinted spittle. I want something clean and safe for a single, white female. The apartments that meet my criteria are generally new developments, that's where realtors have been taking me. I'm seeing semi-clean white walls, freshly-tiled floors, televisions in every room...I'm finding out how the middle-upper class people live.

I'd also like to have a nice view from my apartment. In this crowded city, a "nice" view might be a vacant property or a nice-looking building. It might just mean being high enough that you see some treetops rather than the disorder below. But even the "nice" views overlook extreme poverty. Maybe that's why everyone in the condominium wants a garden-facing flat. Not a reality-facing flat.



A stone's throw from an apartment complex I liked—past the guard and the well-tended green space, over the wall, on the other side of the row of flowering plants—are shanty towns. Homes made of spare boards and strips of discarded banner material. Homes with no running water, let alone shining sinks; no flooring, never mind beautiful tiling.

These are the homes of the construction workers and maids. They build and tend to the homes across the street, but cannot even dream of owning such homes. Not because they don't work hard, but because they were born into the wrong family. With bad karma. Under the wrong stars. Fate made them the underlings.

I could have been that person who moved to Asia to work with the outcasts, the poor. Instead, the work that brought me here has me wrestling with Excel spreadsheets and becoming conversant in data transfer speeds. But as a person in relationship with The Just One, no matter my daily employment, I am pained at the injustice around me. Why do the rich live at ease at the expense of the poor? How can they treat them without mercy when they have so much? How are animals venerated but people expendable? I wonder: What can I do about this? What am I supposed to do about this?  How do I never let this injustice become normal to me?

---

My friends and I often visit a doctor's happy middle-class home. As I arrive, I stop to remove my shoes. If the doctor's wife is nearby, she stops me. Our conversation goes like this:

"Don't take off your shoes!"
"But they're dirty!"
"But our whole country is dirty! That's what it's like here!"
"But I don't want your house to be dirty."
"Leave them on. We leave ours on."

So, I dirty her house. If she's OK with her home being dusty, then I can be OK with that. But I can never be OK with injustice.

---

I've been trying to read through the Scriptures in a year, but my slow pace has me stuck in the prophets. Jeremiah writes, "Execute judgement in the morning; and deliver him who is plundered out of the hand of the oppressor, lest my fury go forth like fire..." (21:12). "Did not your father eat and drink, and do justice and righteousness? Then it was well with him. He judged the cause of the poor and needy; then it was well. Was not this knowing me?" (22:15-16)

If my soul is heavy when I see injustice, it is because I know Him, and He is grieved, too. He is more than grieved, He is angry. 

---

This month we hired a few new employees. The young man we took on came neatly dressed, his hair freshly trimmed. Each day he came to us after a full morning of college classes, riding the cheap bus for two hours to get here...and two hours to get home afterward. His smile was wide, and overflowed into his eyes.

Two weeks came and went, and his ability didn't match up to the tasks he needed to perform. We'd advanced him money from his paycheque to get glasses (a luxury he hadn't invested in) but still his eyes weren't picking up the problems in his work. It came time for the axe.

After explaining why we needed to dismiss him, my coworkers blessed him with encouragement about his good qualities. Where justice would have paid him two weeks' wages, grace paid a full month's wages. He left as pleasantly as he had always come, saying, "No other company would do this for me." He knew that something was different here. 

When we see justice done, something in us responds. Fair wages paid, wrongdoers punished, lies exposed. But when justice gets outrun by grace, something within us sings.

I like to think that Truth began to play on his heart as he was here. Truth was playing a song that cannot reverberate inside cows, pigeons or monkeys. It is a song sung uniquely inside Image-bearers, when the human soul sees qualities that reflect His Image. The song says: "this is what I was made for."

---

 
One of my new friends is short on cash. It's not because she's not a hard worker, or because she doesn't have a job, or because she's not skilled. It's simply because her employers hold back her wages. They promise, but don't deliver. 

Based on the prophets, I would say that God is angry at her employers for their injustice. He will make them give account. There will be a day of fire and judgement.

But between now and the Day when justice is finally meted out, what I can do about injustice? How can I do justice? I'm a graphic designer, or a writer; not a lawyer, or a social worker.

The voice from the fiery bush said, "What is that in your hand?" (Ex. 4). Moses had a rod. We start with what we have, too. This week, our company paid (more than) fair wages to an employee. This week, I pr@yed for, designed and printed business cards for my friend who needs paid work. This week, I wrote this to exhort you, because you witness injustice too. Do justice. Live grace.

As we do, the song in our hearts rises; Truth sings. We step on holy ground (Ex. 3). And this time, you'd better take off your shoes. Even the doctor's wife would agree.

that reminds me of a story

Last night, my new friend and I were sitting in the foyer waiting for a ride to a wedding reception we were to attend. My friend was telling me about her neighbour's adulterous affair. It was too-typical sludge: a lover scampering off in the morning; a crying spouse; betrayal and lies. Then she told me another similar tale. It was a murky, dark topic of conversation.

"The story that you're telling me reminds me of the true story of a man named Joseph, a story told in the B'ble," I said. "Can I tell you that story?"

She seemed agreeable, but suggested that we start walking toward where we were to meet the driver.

As we stepped out of the elevator into the parking lot, I started again. "Joseph was from Israel. Do you know where Israel is?" I asked. "Yes, of course I know where Israel is."

So the story began, as we walked down the dusty street near my flat. "Joseph was his father's favourite son. His brothers despised him and wanted to kill him. They came up with a dishonest plan...."

We turned onto a secondary road, looking both ways for vehicles. The conversation quieted for a few moments. "But yes, you were telling me about Joseph...?" "Joseph was taken away by slave traders and sold to an Egyptian owner...."

Soon we had reached the main road near my house, the road that my coworker says he pr@ys every time he crosses. "Are you good at crossing roads?" my friend asked. I thought I was decent, but it proved a challenge even for an advanced road-crosser like myself. (Local traffic has a few unique features: it can come from any direction, at any time, and at any speed. I have yet to see a functional crosswalk or stop light.) We made it halfway across, and waited a few minutes at the median. A little lady started across, waving for vehicles to stop for her, and signaling for us to follow. We reached the other side of the street and positioned ourselves at a relatively calm spot next to the busy road. We continued to wait for our "chauffeur," who was apparently on his way.

"So, yes, finish about Joseph," she said. We got to the part about Joseph's exalted status and Potiphar's wife's attempt to seduce him. With joy, I told her about the triumphant moment where Joseph ran away from adultery and chose to do what pleased G0d. The story continued with his many years in prison, and his later exaltation after suffering.

A few dogs wandered by. One came too close for comfort. My friend adjusted her shawl and checked her phone. Her friend called to say that he was approaching, watching for us along the busy roadway.

We had a few more minutes to wrap up the story with Joseph's exemplary forgiveness of his brothers, and his statement about how G0d used even an evil thing for good. Then her friend's car approached, and we trundled off to the reception.

As I think about our evening, I remember that there were street dogs. There was the polluted air of rush hour. There were blaring horns. There was our late, late ride. But amidst the chaos, there was the peace-filled story of Joseph. A story of integrity, faithfulness and forgiveness. A story that's true to life, both in it's account of man's failure...and the possibility of man's redemption. A beautiful story...especially when you're hearing it for the first time.

poh-tay-toh, poh-tah-toh

“To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” 
“Do not I fill heaven and earth?”

---

Before I came to Asia, a friend who hails from here prepared me: "In my homeland, they have their own version of everything. They imitate brand name smart phones, software, computers.... Be careful, or the next thing you know, they'll make a duplicate of you." We laughed.

But indeed, in less than two months here, I've realized that this country appears to have a counterpart for everything an outsider can throw at them. Never mind the fake Apple products or pirated software (I prefer to buy the real deal), this whole duplicate thing has been especially obvious to me in the spiritual realm.

For example, I asked a neighbour about the portrait on her wall. I knew it represented a g0d. She replied, "That is so-and-so." Then she offered an explanatory note, to help this foreigner: "He's like your Je'sus." Oh, gotcha.

I heard loud music blaring during my language lesson, and asked my teacher if it was true that the music was part of a religi0us ceremony. Her reply? "It's like church for you. You sing, we sing. Same thing." I was quiet.

My mind is grappling with the supposed similarities. I am not surprised that most Westerners who come East would just assume, as my Eastern friends do, that we are all doing the same thing and treading the same path, just in our own ways. Poh-tay-toh, poh-tah-toh.

Here, Eastern religious temples dominate the landscapes. Western* countries draw guests to see cathedrals. Could the pictures on their walls be counterparts to our Sunday school portrait of brown-haired J'esus? They have gurus. We have past0rs. They ask their astrologers about big and small decisions, just as we might consult a wise older believer. The East has factions within their religious groups. The West has denominations. It seems that for everything there is a parallel.

And if anything, it appears Easterners are more zealous, with their regular fasts, abstaining from particular foods always, performing elaborate ceremonies...and setting up g0ds at every gate, every home, every shop....

---

The first movie I saw in theatre in Asia was, appropriately, Life of Pi. When I entered the theatre I didn't know I would be watching a profoundly spiritual film. What for the first 100 minutes appeared to be simply a fantastic 3-D story slapped me silly with huge philosophical implications in the last 20 minutes. Yann Martel knows how to weave a powerful tale. I spent the next 48 hours digesting what I saw.

He sought to convey, in parable form, the variance and semblance between Eastern and Western worldviews. The Eastern worldview is a tangled, colourful tale. The Western is straightforward and to-the-point. The Eastern story had talking animals and incredible feats. The Western tale could stand up in a court room: the details are scientific and believable. But the clincher is this: according to the author, both seek to explain events that unknowable. Therefore, either explanation is equally valid. "Pick your story," he says. We start and end in the same place either way.

It sounds tolerant. Wise, even. Enlightened, informed, peace-loving...on the surface. But when examined a bit longer, you must conclude that the glaring hole in the worldview of Martel is its audacious acceptance of uncertainty as a way of life. In fact, on his terms, concepts like tolerance, wisdom and peace cannot be universally defined. They cannot be known and understood by all humans in the same way, because everything must be left open to opinion, interpretation, and persuasion. On such a basis, what is peace? What is wisdom? Who is to say that they are universal values?

The reasoning mind cannot be satisfied, because it cannot answer any of the big questions. The biggest goal seems to be to forget your big questions. In Life of Pi the big question is "Why did the ship sink?" Martel says it doesn't matter because you'll never know. Do you have deep questions that keep you up in the night? Hush now...it makes no difference anyway.

In seeking to cater to all worldviews, it could not be more clear that Life of Pi came from one. One where all is one: one being, one continuum, one reality. All sources of knowledge are equally valid or invalid because there is no information from outside our realm. This worldview has no eternally separate, distinct, personal, unique Creator who wants for nothing and needs not His creation. The Creator who can provide the back story to the universe, and who can therefore answer the big questions in a satisfying way. The Creator, whom no one can truly copy, imitate or duplicate.

---

We visited a tourist city a few hours from here. At a beautiful waterfront restaurant, I caught a bit of a philosophical conversation between two young travellers. It doesn't surprise me that they were talking about core values and ultimate reality in a country like this one. Those themes are begging to be discussed because around every corner there's something that shakes your way of thinking...or threatens to. The human mind is not content with—and not even able to strictly live by—Martel's proposition that all is relative. It wants to know.

---

Do you hear again the challenge Isaiah and Jeremiah transmitted?
“To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” 
“Do not I fill heaven and earth?”

Let me know when you find a copy of Him.

"The Portion of Jacob is not like them,
for He is the Maker of all things."
"There is none like You."

*While followers of J'esus are followers of a faith that has its roots in East, the Western world is much more influenced by the teachings of J'esus than the East. This is why I speak of the general worldviews for which these areas of the world are known, in collision. I do not mean to insinuate that all Westerners have a correct worldview nor that all Easterners do not.

that big, that good

There was no handwriting on the wall. Tea leaves certainly didn't spell it out for me. I can't tell you a dramatic story of my Book opening to particular passage. My decision to move to Asia was simply a choice I made, a door I walked through.

Many, many times I had looked into opportunities abroad, only to be discouraged eventually. But this time I saw the guidance of the Father, in opening door after door. I pursued wise counsel. I sought the blessing of my parents (and after some tough questions, they bravely blessed this venture). And finally, I said, "Why not?! Let's do this." In some senses, it was fairly straightforward.

After arriving here, again, I've seen His fingerprints on this situation. It isn't perfect, by any means. There's only one perfect Place. But I could list for you at least 5 confirmations that have reminded me that this is a good place for me. I didn't have to receive confirmations like that from Him, but He is kind to encourage me.

Before I came to Asia, there were a few who questioned my decision or discouraged me. The most notable was one who insinuated that by my leaving, a particular person (in whom I had invested a considerable amount of time) would be left to struggle spiritually. The gist of it was: this person needs you in order to live rightly. Quite a claim!

Obviously, I didn't let the comment stop me. But it rattled me. While 90% of me was fiery ("That's not true!") there was 10% of me that feared those words would come true. Those words exposed the false fear I had, too. Was I a crutch that kept that person, or others, going? Would something or someone fall apart by my leaving? Was I selfish in my decision to go abroad, or was I going for the wrong reasons? I spent time entertaining fears, some foolish, some more real. But no such fear was great enough to cancel my plans. Asia still beckoned; the pathway was still clear. I came.

I told my local coworker about that hurtful remark. I was already seeing sweet signs that that person's claim was untrue, that the Father was caring for and guiding said person without me. My coworker has been reminding me of this: when the Father guides me in a particular direction, He is orchestrating the surrounding details as well. He knows how far the ripples of our decision will reach, and He's already prepared for that. He's that big.

For example, if He guides parents into a particular country or situation, He has a good plan for their children there, too. In my case, if He leads me far from family and friends whom I love, He's going to use that for good both in my life and theirs. The Father won't lead his faithful child astray. He may lead through thorny ways or situations not presently understood. But He'll never, ever lead his child astray. He's that good.

I want this simple post to stand as a reminder to me, and perhaps to you as well. I want to remember that He does all things well. Moses wrote, "He is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful G0d who does no wrong, upright and just is he." He continually has our (individual and corporate) best in mind. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

in particular

Generalizations are often made about the place I am calling home. Many of them are negative. Before I moved here I read a rather intimidating summary of some of the circumstances here. I saw eyebrows raise when I told of my plans. My coworker was told not to start a business here, because that the g0vernment is “evil.” A seatmate on the plane (though she had never been here) told me this is a “scary” place. Local people generalize too, about "the uneducated people," "people who live on that side of the river" or "people with that last name." How easy it is to allow these comments to form our view for us—to allow generalizations to make us feel there is no need for inquiry into the particulars.

After such warnings, you might be surprised to know that I have met many friendly, welcoming people here. They are quick to invite me—a stranger—into their kitchen, under their tent flap or onto their rooftop for food. Pleased that we have chosen their city as home, they are happy to help us with the language. They speak with me in their best English, though the onus is on me to learn the local language. These are a few general, positive experiences I've had with people here. 

In particular, I think of drivers who charge an honest rate and wait patiently when we do errands. I remember our cleaner, who does dirty work with a wide smile and a good attitude. I admire interviewees who openly share their dreams and lives with us upon our first meeting. My teacher's generous spirit and respect for her parents is commendable. I've interacted with kind people who have that last name and seen kind faces on that side of the river. This is what I'm learning: when you meet individuals, the generalizations almost seem contrived. There may be some difficult or dangerous people here, but the vast majority of the people I meet are not those people.

My parents taught me to be cautious with the words “always” and “never.” Used incorrectly, those words can cause great damage. It's not always hot here; nor is our city always noisy. The red chewing tobacco stains are not everywhere. The beggars don't always pester you; dust and dirt don't enter every orifice. The people aren't always late...and on and on it goes. If you must generalize, choose your words wisely.

How often are relationships broken, or aborted before they begin, because of careless generalizations? We ignore or distrust people because others have misrepresented them with their words. We speak confidently about things we do not really know. A coworker once made a comment about how I “always cause such-and-such a problem.” It stung, because it was not true and I felt defrauded: I made that mistake sometimes, but not every time. But isn't it easier and quicker to be general than specific? It's like treating a problem area with a wooden mallet when tweezers are required.

People are everywhere here. Their limbs hang out of buses; their backs carry heavy loads; their eyes stare from side streets. I see why it is especially easy to generalize, to survey, or assume. Getting to know people—especially in a culture so different than my own—expends more effort than painting them all with one brush. But the calling is to love in a way that is not only corporate, but individual. I don't want to judge them based on the generalizations people make about the culture, on reading I've done, or claims I've heard. Each person is an individual Image-bearer. Their circumstances are particular. They no more want to be Brown Person #2043 than I want to be White Person #1097. People may be everywhere, but there is only one of each person. 

The Father “so loved the world”, but He also loved the individual. Did you see how He comforted Hagar in her time of need, called out the sin of Achan, met Elijah in his suicidal anguish, or provided for Ruth of Moab? “In these last days, He has sp­oken to us by His Son,” who took time to chat on a rooftop, by a well, or near a graveside. He didn't disregard a person due to his haircut or her heritage; He saw the heart. His call was general, but also specific: whoever is thirsty, let him come. Yes, He loves all, but He also loves in particular. Would we follow Him?